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I am not so large there is no space for growth and movement. There is still a runway far before me as I build up the speed I need to leave the world.

The clouds aren't a deception, not unlike a canvas, not unlike a night of sleep inside from a thunderstorm. What I would dream is a look, and what I would recall as another possibility. It's the space between bones, its cartilage; it's a filled and unfulfilled devotion to locomotion. When I still see your face when I dream, I feel the cushion hasn' ( Read more... )

Tell me how you feel.

I miss you.